


a rare gift

by bonkobarnes



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Control Issues, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominant Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal Needs a Break, Kneeling, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Sexual Submission, Protective Will Graham, Slow Burn, Stubborn Hannibal Lecter, Submissive Hannibal Lecter, Tenderness, Will Graham Knows, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham Takes Care of Hannibal Lecter, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:27:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25330015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonkobarnes/pseuds/bonkobarnes
Summary: Hannibal has given Will a rare gift, he has allowed him to see him. Will knows what Hannibal needs better than he does and makes sure he gets it.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 32
Kudos: 75





	1. didn't i?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for being here friends :)

His self-control was a thick metal coil bent and shaped into a spring, wound around his entire life. Compressed from the time of its construction, the spring had never jumped into life in the presence of others. Not unless he wanted it to. 

Intricately woven with his own self-preservation, it was meticulous, poised, always in control. Restraint of his lurking constitution had always been a game, one he had never lost. 

Actions and their consequences, whether intended or not, were carefully examined, dissected, manipulated, stretched, and warped to fit the blueprints of his mind. This immaculately artful yet hidden life was his choice, one of his own making, and he surrendered himself to the hard work it required long ago.

Proffered tokens of inconceivable rest were only ever briefly acknowledged, and invariably regarded as nothing more than pure fiction. The opportunities were laid at his feet, no doubt having the means, intellect, charm, and poise necessary to slip away unnoticed; find a quiet place to lead a life of solitude and treasured inspirations artfully crafted for no one but himself. 

But those imaginings were never more than skimmed over with indifference before burning in the fire. He knew quite well that an acquiescent and stationary life was never written in the cards for him, having written them himself.

That is, until the suffocatingly-alluring enigma of Will Graham. Impossible and improbable, and yet still so very persistent against his defenses. 

And so the coils slowly stretched up and his carefully crafted sense of self had begun to release from the unrelenting pressure he had placed it under. The kinetic energy stored in the tightly wound metal had laid crackling but dormant for so long that when the roar of life was introduced for the first time since its creation, he was sure this man was his undoing.

All his life he had been the sculptor. Chiseling away at the people around him until they resembled the creature he saw within himself. Smoothing away the facade to reveal the exquisitely sinister reality of man on earth. 

Despite his remarkable achievements as a sculptor of men, he learned soon enough that for all of his vulnerabilities and assumed weakness, Will Graham was not made of stone. He would not so easily bend to the steel of Hannibal’s pointed tool.

Even with all his extensive knowledge of the inner workings of the mind, the doctor could never have predicted Will Graham. It was so intoxicating to be left astonished by someone’s behavior that he could not help but bask in it every opportunity he got. 

He knew, in the recesses of his mind, that this boy, this man, was his end. 

For all of his insistent perfectionism, this one imperfect man would leave a ringing in his ears he couldn’t unhear. This man would shatter the walls he had built up brick by brick. This man would seep through the floorboards and infiltrate the underbelly of his mind palace. 

This man's magnificent becoming, of which he was delighted to witness, would undoubtedly ensure his own downfall. 

Every surface in every room would inevitably be doused in the scent of Will Graham’s obnoxious but irresistible aftershave.

And the most exhilarating of all his newly discovered capriciousness and apathy? Hannibal Lecter was perfectly content to let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello all! thank you for reading my nonsensical ridiculously confusing bullshit, as gillian would say :). i know it's literally overflowing with pretentious vocabulary but i think in order to accurately represent hannibal's thoughts it needed that. not that this would be accurate in any way, im way too fuckin dumb to get anywhere near his intellect nor would i ever be able to write him with any semblance of accuracy. this was my sad attempt, lol. other fannibal writers are a thousand times better at this than me but i hope you enjoyed nonetheless. 
> 
> i also wrote this as the sun was rising in the morning having gotten no sleep at all, so take that into consideration when acknowledging this mess of words. if i find the inspiration to continue this, and can figure out a way to go from this chapter to the point in time i want to somewhat seamlessly, you can expect a dominant will. not necessarily sexually, but hannibal kind of needs someone to take the reins for a lil bit. 
> 
> please let me know your thoughts, hopes, criticisms, whatever, in the comments!! comments make me cry with adoration
> 
> okay that's it! love to all <3


	2. i am intrigued. obsessively.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finds an opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yayy, getting into the good stuff. enjoy!!

Even sick with encephalitis, Will was consciously aware his characteristic fire was waning. The fire of his soul, the fire that harbored his customarily imposing presence, was slowly being snuffed out with every shake and shiver of his body.

Every moment he spent with Dr. Lecter was dizzying, his empathy unable to challenge the perplexity of this man's mind. In moments of clarity, when the fog over the water cleared enough to see the beacon of the lighthouse, the brightness called to him and whispered of Hannibal's desperation.

Desperation in every sense of the word. Desperate for utter control, desperate for dominance, desperate for the kind touch of another, desperate to be seen. The warmth of the beacon shining through the fog nourished the dying embers inside of him, enough to cast light in the shadows of the doctor's secrets. It wouldn't come all at once, no, time had stood still for Will, only allowing the fire to strengthen in moments of lucidity. 

A match had been lit and the only thing keeping his fire from climbing up and out as it usually did, was the hot fevered sweetness of his illness. Their sessions, their dialogue, as scrambled as Will's thoughts were, still shone like a torch in the dark.

Between the stitching of his person suit, Will saw the monster that lied beneath. He felt he was touring the halls of Hannibal's mind palace, cold, bleak, the only luminance coming from his own intuition. 

He was so close to discovering the switch of the lights, he had been feeling along the walls with the pads of the fingertips, searching for that one revelation that would allow him to see, finally see it in all its magnificence. 

It was a difficult process assuming Dr. Lecter's point of view, to say the least. Will's intellect had been betrayed by inflammation of his mind and the energy Hannibal devoted to suppressing himself was palpable. 

A complexity of mind that Will had only encountered a few times over the course of his life. Although, none were quite as impressive as Dr. Lecter's. It would have been nearly impossible to recreate his process if Will weren't as skilled at his job as he was.

Nonetheless, with enough relentless searching, wafting through the combined murk of their madness, he was able to turn on the lights. The darkness that had been known to him gave way to the certainty of his conclusions. Framing him for the Ripper's murders and locking him up did nothing to dissuade Will from discovering the truth. 

The doctor's first mistake was underestimating him, believing him to be easily manipulated. Clarity had been bestowed upon him and he watched the montage of every interaction he had with his psychiatrist play through a projector in his mind. 

It was watching a movie you had already seen. All the scenes giving sly implications of what was to come, now that you knew how to look for the signs. He had been able to stoke the fire during his time alone in the hospital, confidence returning with every new lick of heat.

The argument could be made, although not by Alana, that Will came out of BSHCI stronger than he had ever been. There was a thrilling vitality that accompanied his revelations about the good doctor. 

When the shadows of Hannibal's mind scattered Will had not only come to understand Hannibal Lecter's pathology but his own as well. Dialogue between the men was replayed on the screen showcasing the seeds Will had been subconsciously sowing in their relationship.

He had been asserting his dominance, even as he seized, even as he lost time, even as he shook with fever. The stunning realization of Hannibal was that of being able to taste his natural proclivity for submission. It was there, albeit hidden deep enough that not even the owner of such instincts was aware. 

Hannibal's need for complete and obsessive control stemmed from his desire to have it taken from him, even if only for a fleeting moment. Will sensed the ache in his soul, his voiceless screaming for someone else to take hold of the reins he held so tightly they fused with his fingers. 

The film still played, revealing to him that his seeds had begun to sprout. He observed as Hannibal became more defensive, only noticeable when looking for it, and saw the subtle submissive tendencies he demonstrated. Will was gradually asserting his dominance, establishing himself as a quiet but forceful presence. 

It was climbing a ladder; each rung bringing him closer to Hannibal's untouchable ego. Antlers and all, waiting for someone to reach him there, pull him in, and safely bring him down from his towering perch. None of Hannibal's previous attempts at coaxing somebody up the ladder had succeeded, no one able to devote enough time or energy to look past the monster and truly see him in all of his vulnerability.

But Will was here, and he wasn't afraid of the devil Dr. Lecter presented to the world, he knew it well because it was mirrored in himself. He went about his usual business, an air of confident inclinations restored to him as his illness was treated. He was feeling like himself again, and he knew Hannibal knew it. 

Now that the doctor's machinations had been foiled, Will knew he had a slim window of opportunity in which to enact his own plans. It was necessary that Will educate the man on each of their roles in this relationship, as it was clear they had been confused. 

Will knew best, deep down, very deep down, Hannibal knew Will knew best, and Will just needed compliance. He was waiting for the right moment to present itself to them, wanting a vulnerable Hannibal and the right mood before letting the tension that had built up so heavily finally release.

It all came to a head in Dr. Lecter's office. Enough bricks had been torn down and he was high enough on the ladder that he recognized there wouldn't be a better time than right now.

"After everything that's happened Will, you still believe --"

"You can stop right there. You may have to pretend, but I don't." Hannibal could feel the heat radiating off the resolve in Will's eyes like the sun on a summer day. He swallowed and spoke softly,

"No, you don't. Not with me." The lilt of his tone made an offering to Will that he had not gotten from him before. An offer made meant to bait Will, test him, see what he would do. A hint of indulgence indicated to Will that the chorus was singing and the symphony swelled, ready for this exact moment. 

Will's eyes hardened, his features remaining passive but tone suggesting complete authority. 

"I don't expect you to admit anything. You can't. But I prefer sins of omission to outright lies, Dr. Lecter," smoke seemed to plume out his mouth as he spoke, blazing heat lingering beneath the surface. "Don't lie to me." And with those final words, the totalitarian command he spoke them with, and Hannibal's already battered line of defenses, the final rung of the ladder was climbed. 

"Have I made myself clear?" Hannibal's ears rung with simultaneous arousal and sting from the blow to his pride; the words making him bristle in his chair. 

"Will you return the courtesy?" Deflection. A challenge in his eyes. Will watched the minute lifting of his chin and saw it for what it was. He knew this battle would not be easily won, and the thrill of the chase raced through his veins. He blinked slowly, deliberately, looking off with a sense of exasperation one usually reserved for dealing with a petulant child. 

Inside the safety of his mind palace Hannibal often thinks of his sister. As a psychiatrist, he is able to look at himself objectively and has had plenty of time to analyze himself, his becoming. 

He attributes his abject apathy of others to her death, having not been strong enough to save her. To save the innocence and purity which tied him to her, to humanity. 

He doesn't often like to dwell on the past, he doesn't believe it's beneficial. But he allows himself to remember Mischa. She was the only true warmth he had ever known. He felt the memory of warmth with Abigail, close but not quite. But Will held a fire within that roared in comparison.

After his little sister's death, Hannibal was aware he had become subject to a frozen heart, a frozen soul. Her killer created in him a block of ice, hardened, never melting. Not even a drop of condensation had been able to slither its way down. 

Though sitting here now, in the wake of Will's fire, he felt the leaping tendrils of heat blazing his skin, blinding his eyes. They threatened to lick up and up until they consumed the room, convincing slithering rivulets of water to slide down his block, excess condensation and proof of his weakness pooling in tiny puddles in his chair and seeping through to the floor. 

The slow and steady dripping echoed around in his ears, bouncing off every wall in his mind palace like a pinball machine gone rogue. He knew that the parts of him that were melting were not going to wait for him to harden before running off. 

The rivers of water were abandoning him, gathering far and away from his sculpture of ice, never to freeze with the rest of him again. These puddles of himself, growing larger in Will's presence and under his stare, were being wiped away. Evaporated by the heat of Will Graham's determination and ceaseless persistence. 

Hannibal looked to Will, searching, for what he wasn't sure. Curious, if after all the irrevocable damage he had done to his person suit, he was going to follow through. 

Will looked to Hannibal, idly watching the ice turn to water, watching as it soaked through his shoes. His lip curled ever so slightly, knowing he had won before the battle had even truly begun. Snapped his eyes up from the floor to meet Hannibal's. 

"Answer the question." Hannibal's lips parted slightly as he sucked in a breath through his teeth. He didn't know why he had thought any differently; Will never disappoints. 

"Yes," his voice quiet, nearly subdued. He could do nothing but relent in the face of this insidious beauty. 

His eyes widened the tiniest bit, watching Will get up from his seat and slowly make his way over to him. He settled behind his chair, backs facing one another, Hannibal not daring to do more than glance over his shoulder at the other man. 

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, imposing, invading, commanding the flesh beneath to bend to its will. The tension he held in his body thrummed loudly through his blood, the hum and pitch of it sounding akin to his theremin. He was drowning in its melody. Unable to hold himself back, he angled his head to the left, closing his eyes to drink in the irresistible aroma of Will's hand. 

Will feigned indifference upon hearing the other man breathe him in deeply, although it unveiled a small smirk on his face. There was nothing Hannibal wouldn't do for him in this moment. 

"Wonderful." He pressed his hand deeper into Hannibal's upper arm, curling his fingers around the solid form. He released Hannibal from his grip and walked over to the man's desk, intending to sit in the chair there. "Now, I know and you know that you have to fight this, it's the only way you can accept it happening to you," Will spoke slowly, calmly, steepling his fingers together and resting his elbows on the desk in front of him.

"Your pride demands that you struggle, even if we both know you really don't need to. So I am aware that you will feel it necessary to resist, but I ask that you comply enough that I don't have to restrain you," he paused, staring at the back of Hannibal's head.

"Unless I feel that's something you need," he said contemplatively. "Stand up then, come to me," he sat back in the chair, smiling in spite of himself, knowing the older man would not immediately adhere to his instructions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked, please leave any criticisms, hopes, wishes, suggestions, whatever!!! i drink up comments like bedelia drinks her wine


	3. enveloped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal gives in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again friends !! so please be warned that this chapter has NOT been re-read by me and could literally make absolutely no sense at all. like batshit crazy. i will definitely be back to edit it later, as i usually do, just be warned that you're walking into a shitshow with this chapter. anyway, have fun!

Hannibal was afraid. He thought back to the last time he felt the paralyzing emotion and shuddered internally. It had been decades. The command the other man had over his psyche was overwhelmingly powerful and it took every ounce of strength he had left to plaster an indignant look on his face and abruptly stand up from his chair. 

He turned to stare down Will, smoothing his suitcoat out a few times over, uncharacteristically rash. Will noted with mild interest that it seemed to be an act of self-soothing. 

He mustered up the last bit of defiance he had in him and said, "This is ridiculous. I have no desire to be paraded around on your whimsy. And I hardly think commanding me around my own office will bring you any of the satisfactory revenge you're looking for. It certainly won't feel as good as killing me, Will. It won't be the same."

Will indulged his amusement with a quirk of his lips. 

"Oh, this has nothing to do with wanting to kill you, Dr. Lecter. I've moved past that, remember?" He spoke slowly, every word packed with rich anticipation. "No, this is a mutually beneficial arrangement. I get to reclaim the sense of self and identity that you _stole_ from me by embracing my dominance, and you get to finally let go." He closed his eyes, briefly imagining the tranquility Hannibal would feel. 

"I've had a lot of time to analyze you, you saw to that, and I've come to understand that this is simply a part of your nature. You've kept it very well hidden. Blinding everyone around you to it, for which I have to give you credit," he said tilting his head towards him in an acknowledging bow. 

"I will say, it is _very_ convenient for me that I restore my dominance with you, the very one who tried to take it from me." Will still held all the grace of a man with no fear, speaking so casually it almost felt flippant, (which happened to be entirely the point). 

Hannibal's hold on himself was slipping with every word, like water through his fingers. He held tight to preserve the melting ice before it all dripped through. He visibly clenched his jaw and swallowed, for once unable to procure a feasible counterargument. 

"Now that that's out of the way, we can move right along. I know I'm your last session of the day, so we will use the remainder of our time to learn from each other. If I decide it hasn't been long enough, we'll stay longer. I expect you to address me as sir, regard me with nothing but respect, and to conduct yourself with humility. Am I understood?" His eyes bore into Hannibal's, expectant. 

No one in his life had ever dared to speak to him like that. He had done a good enough job of convincing everyone around him of his authority that he had ruled out the possibility of a scenario such as this a very long time ago. It wasn't possible, wasn't allowed.

Yet here he was, a stag staring at the barrel of a hunter's gun, contemplating whether or not it should take the chance to run, or allow the inevitable. His heart raced, hands perspiring. A strand of hair fell from it's carefully designed style on his head, landing in front of his right eye.

It was as if he was unraveling, not only internally, but the outside was too. That strand heard the turmoil in his mind and knew it was a fruitless effort. It whispered of quiet reassurances and rationalized curiosity of "what would happen." It told him of trust, and the deep connection he already felt with the man standing before him. 

But all of that could be ignored, even if the whispers became screams to relent. He had heard enough screams in his life, they were always vibrant with delicious vitality, every note of terror harmonizing to orchestrate a melody. He closed his eyes to listen, content that he would win, because screams were the score of his life, how could he lose?

Then, these screams, they were different. They were so very loud, consistent, never-ending. And yet, they were born of gentleness, a sweet softness that caressed his battered mind. The smell of the crisp air right before a rainstorm struck. 

The sounds reverberated in the empty halls of his mind palace, bouncing off of every available surface, a missile searching tirelessly for its target. He watched helplessly as the wound yarn fell limp from its stitching and the flight of screams reached their intended victim.

He was overcome, by something, someone. His faculties were no longer at his own disposal. He stood, rigid, and another man spoke heavy words from his lips. He heard them, distant like someone far off had called them out in hopes he could understand. 

"Yes." A beat. 

"Sir."

This other man opened his eyes for him, gaze traveling up from Will's hands on the desk, to the curve of his satisfied lips. He felt the warmth of Will's fiery eyes on his cheeks, reddening them imperceptibly. Though part of him knew the agent before him would notice. 

"Good," Will spoke with a small smile, eyes knowing far more than they should. He paused, giving Hannibal another moment to process. He raised an eyebrow and said, "I don't like repeating myself, Hannibal. I won't do it again."

With the limited control he still possessed over his body, he pinched his eyebrows together and his mouth fell open the smallest bit. He stood there blinking, the Hannibal inside his body rapidly and hurriedly trying to sew his shoes into the ground, needle piercing Italian leather to keep his body rooted in place.

The new, other man caught on and lifted one leg up with a loud rip, stepping forward and duplicating the action with the following foot. Before Hannibal could begin sewing again, the "other" man stepped closer and closer to the desk.

Will watched on in complete fascination, seeing the turmoil and violent battle raging on within his counterpart. It showed on his face clear as the glass he was choosing to shatter.

Hannibal ended up standing in front of him, to the left of the chair he sat in. Will pushed it back a bit to give the man more room and turned to face him better.

"Take off your suit jacket, lay it over the desk, and kneel." He kept his voice soft but his tone left no room for argument. 

Hannibal heard the muffled instructions from inside his cocoon and felt himself respond accordingly. He watched from inside this other shell of a man as his hand began to grow into the outside hand. He watched perplexed as he slowly began to fill up the space of the receptacle surrounding him. His legs grew into the "other"'s body and they became one. 

Now kneeling, awareness bestowed itself to him and he looked around with clear eyes once again. The shame of the position he was in was still dry in his bones but there was something else there. Something new.   
  
Hannibal was suddenly aware Will was speaking to him and he tuned in to hear, ". . . you'll tell me." Eyebrows knit together again to say, "What?"

Instead of feeling irritated that Hannibal hadn't been listening, Will found he was sorely amused. In fact, this entire situation was quite humorous to him. He let out a small breathy laugh. 

"I was saying that if your knees start to hurt, you'll tell me. I'll know either way." 

"Right." Hannibal was swimming. The slow pull of the water surrounding him, the peace of the silence beneath the surface. The languid movements allowing him to dance with his emotions, gracefully sliding and gliding through the liquid, allowing himself to feel contained, surrounded, secure. 

Free to exist, free to feel, unrestricted, but safe. Safety wasn't usually an emotion he indulged in often. While he had confidence in himself and his abilities, safety felt far away, like a plane in the sky shrouded by clouds. Flying far above his head, always out of reach. 

Yet here it was, surrounding every bare patch of skin, enveloping him in its constant pressure. Wrapping the comfort of the water around his shoulders like a steamed shower after a long day. Will was grounding him like nothing he had ever experienced; it shouldn't have been possible. 

Killing, to Hannibal, felt like nothing else. It was floating, higher and higher, a kite in the wind, barely tethered to the earth. The length of the string pulled further upward and out whenever he ended someone's life. 

This _submission_ , because that's what this was, felt as if someone had grasped the reel, pulled him in against the wind, string going taught. Tying him back to earth, like Mischa once did, like Will was doing now. 

Although killing and submitting were quite opposite feelings, he felt that they were equally as gratifying. How had he gone so long flying in the sky, only soaring higher and higher until he couldn't see the ground he came from? 

A hand in his hair pulled him from his thoughts, warm fingers combing through blonde hair softly, light fingertips scratching along. It felt truly _orgasmic_. He unconsciously leaned into the touch, seeking the connection to the man sitting above him, head spinning from the intimacy. 

He heard the quiet shuffle of papers above him, mind moving slowly in the confines of the water, piecing together that Will must have been working on a case. Relaxing in his position, but maintaining his penchant for good posture, he sunk into the feeling. 

Closed his eyes, took in the smell of Will's strong hands in his hair, the aftershave he knew so well, ink from a ballpoint pen scratching notes above him, he could've been imagining as he had never come across the smell before, but maybe a hint of satisfaction coming from the man. 

He was unsure what that was supposed to smell like, but here it was, and he deduced that Will was probably _quite_ satisfied. A sticky warmth bloomed in his chest and settled in his stomach when he realized the satisfaction was because of him. 

_Hannibal_ had made Will happy. Genuinely happy. He imprinted this feeling into his mind and dedicated a new room in his palace for the contentment he tasted in this very moment. Nothing was quite as savory-sweet, nothing had satiated his hunger like this before. It felt as if he'd never need to eat again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, i apologize for the mess. i just- i'm tired and wanted to get this chapter up, and i know it's probably really incoherent but i currently don't have the energy to care. yikes. sorry! hope some of it made some sense :) 
> 
> your kudos help will solve his next case, and your comments stroke through hanni's soft hair. love to all <3


	4. but do you ache for him?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End to the slow burn of Hannibal accepting his rightful place beneath Will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this ended up way slower than i was originally intending, but the next chapter will finally get into some more fun. was going to include some of it here, but it made more sense to end it when i did. i also use commas and italics with RECKLESS abandon in this chapter so i deeply apologize for that. otherwise, enjoy ! <3

It was waking from a trance, one that had simultaneously weighed his heavy limbs down and lifted him up and away, floating around like a balloon tethered to a kid's backpack. His bones felt rested, the tensing and release that tends to follow a deep massage registering as a dull push, pull, twitch, and jump of muscle. 

Blinking away the bleary ache in his body, sensations suddenly flooded around him, making themselves known to his newly awakened state. He took in his surroundings through the more peculiar of his five senses, not trusting his eyes to reveal him the truth.

He ran his fingers through the expensive silky threads of what he knew to be his favorite imported rug, tuned his ears to the crackling jump and spit of the heat in the fireplace a few feet away, olfactory nerves inviting the aroma of charred wood and sharp whiskey to burn in the fibers in his nose and traveling through to his throat. 

His perceptions were plainly telling him he was home, in his study, on the floor. His mind dragged through the sticky slowness of muddy headspace and noted that he was sitting cross-legged, posture relaxed, but alert. 

Finally trusting the conclusions his slowed mind supplied him, he looked around, trying to determine the source of the scuffling feet he had been hearing. Will, his thoughts whispered, it was Will here with him. And the full image was beginning to reveal itself, pixel by pixel it grew in size until he was able to make something of the shapes and forms.

He watched, unable to look away, as the highlight reel of his night spun through his head, confirming that the idle fear he had been sensing in the back of his mind was founded, valid, and righteous in its speedy development. 

That was not him, kneeling at the feet of the man he had been puppeteering. That was not him, leaning into the warm touch of the focus of his orchestrations. Hannibal Lecter did not kneel, he did not sit, _cross-legged,_ the words themselves evil and spoken as if in a foreign tongue, on the floor of his _own home._

The rampant race of thoughts was interrupted by the man himself, strolling into the room as if nothing were awry, nothing out of place or _wrong_ with their circumstances. 

"Ah, you're finally here, then? Took you long enough," words fell from Will's lips but they were disconnected, sounds following after the movements had ceased. His brain registered that Will spoke with satisfaction, words soft and sweet as if spoken to the moon before one succumbs to darkness. 

"Here?" It seemed his words were not as readily available to him as he would have liked, but the monosyllable did get his confusion across. 

Will's lips quirked, smiling a bit as he walked around the armchair by the fireplace, leaning an arm against it casually and staring into the bright source of light. 

"You fell deep into a submissive headspace, Hannibal. It can be quite overwhelming, almost an overpowering of your faculties, or at least I'm told. I've never seen it so deep and sudden before, but I guess I should have known that even in submitting, you'd find a way to be a pretentious asshole." Will smirks, letting a short chuckle leave his chest. 

He takes languid sips from his glass, content to let Hannibal unfold just as neatly as he packed himself up. It was an interesting experience, transporting him from the psychiatrist's office to his home, all with a glazy eyed serial killer in the passenger seat, allowing himself to be maneuvered around and manipulated. 

Hannibal shoots him a look that reads as just as, if not even more confused than he was minutes before. He reads the question in the look and sighs, hoping to make this unpleasantness quick. If Hannibal can stay down, even a little, Will might actually be able to get some fucking sleep. 

"We were in your office, you agreed that you needed more guidance in your life, and I gladly stepped in. You fell deep into subspace, almost seemed like you were dreaming . . . I've never actually seen you so - so at _peace_. It was beautiful," his voice dropped off near the end, almost mumbling to himself in awe.

He cleared his throat and gave his head a little shake, continuing, "After I finished up my work, we left your office, I drove us home, and you've been sitting here, sweet and calm, since." He looked into Hannibal's eyes, trying to see if he could pull his state of mind from the expression on his face. 

Since they started, Will had finally been privy to Hannibal's open, unguarded face. It was intoxicating, to witness his vulnerability in such a way. Of which he was sure he was the only person alive to harness this specific power over him. 

Hannibal was blinking, lips parted as if about to speak, cogs clearly spinning wildly behind his eyes. "I -" he paused, gathering himself, "I don't believe you. I've been drugged." His words were spoken tentatively, yet firm in the testament of their surety. 

Will's eyebrows shot up in spite of himself. That, he was not expecting. "You don't - _believe_ me?" He felt an absurd burst of laughter rising up in him but coughed instead to suppress it. "I'm sorry, what reason would I have to lie?" Will asked, incredulous, and genuinely curious about the turn their conversation was taking.

Hannibal sneered, evidently feeling more like himself, and said, " _Every_ reason."

Will's eyes narrowed and stared him down at the response, but eventually tilted his head in acquiescence. He couldn't deny that he technically _would_ have every reason to lie, but he was still compelled to defend himself and help him understand the dynamic they uncovered.

"I'm not lying Hannibal, not this time. The only drug you were given was that of my undivided attention. You were quite lovely, kneeling at my feet. Soft, suggestible, pliant, receptive to my touch, like one of my dogs, truly."

Hannibal scowled at the ground and felt his face warm, unable to convince himself that Will was fabricating this. Not when he had fuzzy, pixelated memories to match. Not when he could still smell Will's hands, as if the ghosts of them were endlessly carding through his hair and stroking his face. 

They sat in silence, Hannibal refusing to acknowledge the other man with words, and Will taking his time to finish his drink with small sips. Will set the glass down on the side table with a clink, and stood up, cooly grabbing his coat from the back of the chair, placing it between his arm. 

"Well, since you're yourself again, I'll be leaving. I'm busy with work for the next couple of days but if you need me, you can call me. I'll see you next Tuesday, doctor." With that, he walked to the entrance, only stopping to throw out a smug and amused, "Behave," door slamming shut immediately after the word rang out. 

+++++++++++++++

Hannibal had gone to bed scheming up ways to get back at Will for this indignity he placed him under. He slept restlessly, mind whirling with the events of the day. Fridays were usually one of his busier workdays, so he welcomed the opportunity for distraction come morning.

Despite wearing out all his focus-grabbing devices halfway through his day, he still tried impossibly hard to stay the thoughts of Will away. The logical man inside him was going through all the steps and tools he used for patients who needed help with focus. The small part of him that was screaming to find Will and get on his knees happened to be a little louder. 

He just needed to get through four more appointments. 

Hannibal's iron-clad composure and focus had never been threatened in this way before. Spending all his time in the same setting as all of his relentless fantasies was doing no good in focusing his thoughts on the person sitting in front of him, rambling on about their mundane days. 

Note-taking was never a chore, he recognized its necessity and knew it assisted in establishing his reputation as a renowned psychiatrist. And yet, every moment he went to scratch out a quick observation, he was thrown back into kneeling beside his own desk chair, listening to the sounds of pen on paper as Will wrote down his lesson plans. 

He certainly could not bring himself to _sit_ in that desk chair; that was simply not an option available to him. He resorted to organizing his schedule and files on patients at one of the armchairs, unable to face his desk without a small shiver running down his neck. 

Everything his patients discuss with him seems to relate back to Will, in some form or another. He is far away, and yet here he is saturating the walls of this room, painting it in his color, in his scent, in his beauty. Blood rolls down in slow trails down from the ceiling, covering the room in the bitter tang, the heady power of Will's life force that permeates Hannibal's senses. 

Immediately after his last appointment, he stares down at his hands, packing away his things hurriedly, opening doors and closing them until he's in his car, driving to meet Will in his lecture room. 

Hands gripping the steering wheel tight as he hovers over the door in his mind palace that opens the feeling from last night. The room dedicated to that floaty unawareness, the escape from reality while finally feeling grounded. 

His car pulls up into the parking lot, and he turns it off, sitting in the driver's seat unmoving. He's suddenly ripped from the lull and pull of his day, torn away from the peaceful compliance he had wrapped himself in. 

Full awareness and clarity came to him, hitting him hard enough to make him flinch, closing his eyes to process the shift in states. Walking through those doors would be - catastrophic to the persona he has cultivated for so many years. It would surely do irreparable damage to his person suit, and debase him in every way imaginable.

Before he could so readily agree to this binding relationship with this curious man, he had to reasonably weigh the consequences. It wouldn't do to dive right in without a care in the world, as he was so close to doing only moments ago. 

No, he had to consider what this meant for him. Serving, in this way, was terribly shameful. His dignity, pride, the charismatic figure he presented to the world, they would all suffer for these _moments_. When he could give up control, relinquish the hold he had on his reputation, one as fleeting as the lives he buried. 

What was his life, anyway? What did he have that he could not replace, that he could not create in another world, another place far from here? Hadn't he done exactly that already? What tied him to this sense of self, other than a sense of stability he could not care less about, and easily replaceable possessions. 

What, then, was entirely unique about this version of his life, this snapshot of Hannibal Lecter? It wasn't the degree, the office space, the titles he had earned, it wasn't his patients or reputation within his community. Those were all entirely expendable. He had created them once, he could do it again. His intellect was not at risk here, merely his prestige. 

All that was left, when examining the aspects of his existence that he could consider proprietary, were his true identity, the core of who he is, and Will Graham. For dear Will was his, he had made that impossible to ignore. Will was his, and consequently, he was Will's. 

That's what this moment signified. A recognition and acknowledgment that they were irrevocably intertwined. Facing Will right now meant he was willing to give all of that up. And truly, what wouldn't he do for Will? Hadn't he known, all those months ago, that this man was going to remain a part of him, willingly or otherwise?

He _had_ known, deep in his subconscious that once their two halves had joined, even if momentarily, there was to be no separation. Fate, destiny, _God_ , whatever deity you prayed to wouldn't allow it. They were conjoined; togetherness that could not be torn. 

Accepting this fate, before tasting the sweetness of submission, would have been intolerable. But here he was, standing outside of Quantico's halls because some force of being had compelled his body to move. To be with Will, body and mind, because he could not stand to be apart from him for any longer. 

It was suffering a monumental indignity, but he also knew it was seeking pleasure he had never experienced before and likely would never experience again. When had he ever been known to deny himself something as instinctual as pleasure? It was inescapable, the overwhelming magnitude in which he felt pulled towards this new side of him. 

After the war of his mind had ceded and a decision had been made, he opened his car door to confront this new chapter of life, head-on. He would not tremble in the face of the unknown, Hannibal Lecter was no coward. 

He walked into Will's classroom, and in one of the very rare moments of his life, had entirely no idea what he would say or do. His objective, at this point in time, was simply to move forward and meet his maker. 

Will heard him enter, of course, but paid him no mind, not even glancing up from his work. Hannibal arrived in front of the other man, and suddenly felt small. As if his suit had grown three sizes and Will now towered over him, even sitting down. So much for "not trembling."

Neither man addressed the other, both waiting until their counterpart broke the silence. A small smile slowly crept up Will's face as Hannibal shifted his weight from foot to foot ever so slightly. 

Hannibal found the resolve he had just mustered up and gestured awkwardly between the two of them. "This is . . . new. For me."  
He lightly cleared his throat and paused, looking just right above Will's eyes to avoid the depths he found there. 

Will looked up and stared at Hannibal, observing and noting the microexpressions presented to him. "Oh, I'm well aware." He laughs, a breathy thing, full of the confidence of someone in control. 

"But, as I suspected, you continue to remain entirely predictable, Hannibal. Here you are," he says with a smile, tipping his head down to indicate that he means more than just here in this room, but that Hannibal is _here,_ and willing. 

Seconds stretch by, Hannibal remaining silent to process until he blinks, blinks again, and says quietly, "Here I am."

Will gives him an indulgent smile, silent praise washing over Hannibal like a blanket of warmth. They let the moment remain untouched, paragraphs being spoken through the circulated air, agreement and mutual understanding traded across the way.

"I'm almost done here. Why don't you stay until I'm ready to leave, and we can go back to your place? You can make me dinner. How does that sound?" Although he wasn't really asking. 

"That sounds lovely."

"Good boy," Will's easy smile widening. He stares into Hannibal's eyes, looks pointedly at the ground near his chair, and flits his eyes back to Hannibal's, single brow raising slightly. 

Hannibal bites down, jaw clenching and unclenching, habitually smoothing out his suit coat as if chasing away a non-existent wrinkle. He toes off his shoes, knees softly hitting the floor near Will. An involuntary sigh of pleasure slips from his lips at the euphoric feeling of Will's hand in his hair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!!! comments and kudos fuel my fire :)) love to u all <3


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